The suitcases and some boxes were piled into the trunk of the car. Instead of sitting in the back, Hammond crawled into the front seat beside the Bos’n or ‘Boats’ as rated Boatswain’s Mates are called. The car was started and moved rapidly out of the airport grounds and onto the freeway. They followed Interstate 80 across the bridge to Alameda and kept going northeast.
At first not much was said, and then Hammond broke the ice. “Okay, Boats, are you going to tell me the name of my ship or what?” he asked early in the ride.
Patnaude let out a crusty laugh. “You mean you really don’t know, sir?”
“Not a clue.”
He was still laughing a little. “Well, I’m sorry to say the XO told me I couldn’t tell you until you caught sight of her. It seems he got a call from none other than the White House to set some things up, so you can imagine we’re kinda impressed. When we get there, there’s a dinner going on in the wardroom with the Mayor and a few others to welcome you aboard. Everybody’s been anxious for you to get here,” he said as he drove.
Hammond let out a sigh. “Great. That’s just what I need.”
Patnaude glanced at his captain. They all heard of their new captain and what he had been doing, but now that he met him, Hammond seemed a pretty decent guy. No wonder the President liked him. Patnaude couldn’t let him linger. “Well, Captain, they didn’t say I couldn’t tell you what’s going on,” he said. Hammond twisted slightly to watch the old Bos’n.
“The ship is up in Vallejo, and the head of the shipyard up there talked to the mayor about refurbishing the ship on their own. So the city paid all the bills and got things going. They called in a bunch of veterans to help out. As a matter of fact, about half of the crew is veterans,” he said proudly. “When they called me back up, I jumped at it. Figured I’d never get this chance again. Anyway all us old hands have been drilling the younger guys on all the usual things — you know, planned maintenance, getting their personal qualifications up, how to actually run the older systems, and even some operations drills. We figure there won’t be much time for any kind of real training, so we’re improvising a little.”
“That sounds pretty good. What about damage control?”
“An everyday thing, Captain. We got a crash course at the firefighting school and have been training the guys in pretty much everything. I figure we can hold our own,” Patnaude said.
“What about the ship’s condition? Is she ready to rock and roll?” Hammond asked.
“We’ll find out. We get underway tomorrow evening for Seal Beach and the ammunition onload. The Weapons Officer has been drilling his crews like a demon with dummy rounds,” he said. “Needless to say all of the weapons types are really getting anxious to get some things going. We’ll be onloading the missiles and gun ammo.”
Hammond smiled. So it wasn’t a supply ship. Missiles and gun ammo meant a warship of some kind. Now he was happy.
Patnaude could see the change in the Captain’s demeanor. He plowed ahead. “The snipes are pretty anxious, too. They want to see the engines really move the ship. Then again, I guess we all do. I know my guys have been working on the main deck making sure everything’s ready. The windless is operational and the brake was relined. All the anchor chain was repainted and stowed. The accommodation ladder is rigged if we need it and all the fittings are greased and ready. It was a task, but not that bad,” he said.
Hammond listened carefully. The man rattled his way through a myriad of things necessary for getting a ship underway, but he stopped short of saying something that might give him clues to its identity or type. Hammond actually believed the old man was enjoying himself in his torture. Patnaude kept up a running conversation all the way.
Continuing on Interstate 80, the men eventually crossed Carquinez Bridge and entered Vallejo. Exiting on Tennessee Street, Patnaude steered the car across the Mare Island Causeway. They began making their way through a number of streets and buildings, passing several industrial plants and some residential neighborhoods that looked like old navy housing. After a few minutes they pulled past part of the river and went through a shipyard gate. They drove back into a large set of warehouses and workshops. It was hard to see much it was so dark. The few street lamps cast an orange glow on the buildings as they passed. Then they turned down a narrow road between two sets of warehouse buildings. In the clearing he saw the outline of a clipper-like bow. It rose majestically from the water to a bulb at the top. A huge anchor was seated in its hawser and just below it was an illuminated number. The number was 61.
Hammond gripped the arm rest of the car. This was definitely not a supply ship. It was a battleship. It was the kind of ship that every surface line officer dreamed of someday commanding. Before the advent of the aircraft carrier, this was the primary means of projecting power at sea. Although the aircraft carrier could strike harder and farther away with her aircraft, this ship could slug it out one-on-one with anything afloat. More importantly, it could fling its lethal cargo to support troops ashore. As they rounded the buildings he could see the two forward turrets with their three guns each pointing proudly into the night sky. Her tall towers swept upwards and were topped by a set of red aircraft warning lights. The ship was immense. She oozed strength.
Patnaude pulled the Cadillac beside the forward gangway. He came around and opened the door for Hammond to get out. As he did, the sound of four bells was heard and a voice announcing “Captain, United States Navy, arriving.”
Patnaude looked at his captain. He could see the emotion on his face, but knew that was as far as it would get. “Welcome home, Captain,” he said smiling. “I’ll take care of getting your things to your cabin.”
“Thanks, Boats. Thanks a lot.”
Hammond walked to the set of stairs on a platform and climbed to the top where the brow leading to the ship was placed. He then walked to the quarterdeck. A crowd of men in uniform had gathered. Just before him were two sets of men facing each other and another holding a Bos’n’s call. It was a formal reception. As he stepped over the edge of the ship, the Bos’n’s Mate began blowing the call and the men saluted. Hammond saluted and walked through the sideboys, dropping his salute when the pipe stopped. A tall man in a commander’s uniform stepped up extending his hand.
“Good evening, Captain. I’m Brian Davis, your XO.” CO and XO greeted each other for the first time and the XO continued down the line introducing the senior officers. The sideboys were dismissed and the XO got down to business. “Captain, I know you have been left a little in the dark about this, but we were asked to have a small dinner in the wardroom this evening to welcome you and to invite the Mayor of Vallejo and some of the other people who made this happen. If you’re ready, we can join them,” he said.
The Captain nodded and followed the XO through a door on the starboard side, down a corridor leading past officer staterooms and the XO’s cabin. They came to a door blocking further passage. You could hear the noise of many voices in the next compartment. The XO opened the door and stepped through, calling out, “Attention on deck!”
There was a shuffling of chairs as the people in the wardroom came to their feet and became silent. Captain Roger Hammond stepped into the room and was ushered to a place at the center of the head table. The room was arrayed with two long tables and one shorter one crossing the top of the others. The room was full. Nearly 80 people were there waiting for him. As he came to his seat he was introduced to Patricia Crowell, Mayor of Vallejo and Jack Latham, the local shipyard executive. Once the introductions were done, the Captain turned to the others.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for this welcome. I guess it is apparent to everyone that our President likes surprises.” Everyone let out a little chuckle. They all had been aware that some special arrangements had been made for the Captain’s arrival. “And this surprise is most definitely a pleasant one. So let’s take care of the business at hand first. XO please have it noted in the ship’s log that as of 2033 hours on this date, as per my orders, I am assuming command of this vessel,” he said smiling. “Please take your seats.”